Love, Like Jagged Glass
by can't.save.this.sinking.ship
Summary: The first time Harry hit him, Draco had thought his soul would break in two. Angst, established r/l, abuse. COMPLETE.


**AN:** So, I don't really know where this came from. It started as a drabble, and now it's kind of a one-shot? I dunno, I sorta liked it, so I figured I'd post it. Let me know what you think!

**Pairing:** Harry/Draco

**Warnings:** violence, domestic abuse, slash

**Disclaimer:** Not mine

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The first time Harry hit him, Draco had thought his soul would break in two. He'd cried like a baby, blubbering and sniveling into Harry's chest for hours on end, until he'd finally fell into a fitful sleep. Harry had carried him to bed, and watched over him for the remainder of the night.

When Draco had awoken, face sore and swollen, his dear lover had made breakfast for him, and the jade-eyed monster was all smiles, as if the previous night had been but a dream.

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The second time Harry hit him, it was Harry who'd cried. He'd cradled Draco's throttled face in his hands, and wept incoherent apologies and assurances of love; Draco remembered feeling the tears hit his cheeks even through the puffed up, mottled knots forming there.

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The third and final time Harry hit him, they'd both cried.

It was Draco's fault– Harry had found him at a restaurant with another man. After dragging him back home, he'd beat Draco until he couldn't feel the anger and burning jealousy any longer. Through the blood rushing in his ears he hadn't heard Draco's screams; it was only later, when his lover was coughing up scarlet and trembling, that he'd heard the blonde choke, "He was my cousin, Harry."

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Harry's mouth had opened and closed, not unlike a fish, and he didn't say anything for several long moments. Unfortunately, when the right words finally came, Draco wasn't awake to hear them.

Two fingers pressed on Draco's neck, and Harry amended that he was barely _alive _to hear them.

Realization had hit him like a bucket of ice water. He'd stared at what he'd done, momentarily stunned at the extent of the damage; Draco looked like a corpse, sallow and broken.

Harry remembered thinking that his white skin didn't look nearly as pretty with the black and blue interrupting.

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He'd taken him to the hospital. Nobody had asked any questions; he was Harry Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World. He'd never deliberately hurt someone, especially the one he loved.

How wrong they were.

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It had taken three surgeries and the rest of the night, but Draco had finally pulled through– just barely. They'd come into the waiting room and told Harry that he was awake, but a little disoriented.

When he'd stepped inside, he'd felt like he was walking into a principal's office, about to be scolded.

But Draco had said nothing. He'd sat and stared at the wall in front of him. Harry could see tear tracks drying on his face.

Harry had wanted to touch him, so he did. He'd sat down next to him and stroked his cheek. It was several minutes before Harry realized that Draco's eyes were clenched shut and his entire body was coiled up with tension.

He was afraid. Afraid of him.

Harry's throat felt like sandpaper. He'd tried to apologize, but all that came out was a dry puff of air.

Draco had looked at him, then, with his two black eyes and crooked nose, and told him that it was okay, that he loved him anyway. He'd blinked and two tears had dripped down either cheek. Harry had reached out to brush them aside, and Draco had flinched.

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Before he could think it through, Harry told him he was sorry, that there was something wrong with him that he didn't know how to fix.

Draco had smiled, gently, and said that he understood, and that he'd known that fact from the beginning.

In a small voice, Harry said he could change.

Draco had given him an enigmatic, vaguely disbelieving half-smile at that point, and Harry'd felt an unbidden, electric surge of rage flood through his veins– he'd gotten to his feet and bellowed, "I _can _change! I _will_! Don't you _dare _think I can't!"

He'd stopped, breathing hard, towering over his lover– and that's when he'd heard the sounds.

Small, hiccupping gasps, barely stifled sniffles.

Draco was crying– out of fright. His hands were over his head, and his entire body was convulsing in terrified sobs.

"Oh, love, I'm so sorry," Harry'd whispered hoarsely, voice ragged and pleading. He'd rushed over the bed and wrapped his arms around the thin, shaking shoulders, feeling his own eyes begin to heat in shame and guilt. "Please forgive me, love. Please. You mean the world to me, you know that, right? I would never hurt you. Never." His voice was choppy and rough, words tripping and stumbling over one another as he tried desperately to reassure his lover.

Draco's arms had lifted, like a child seeking comfort, and had woven around Harry's neck, clutching there like a lifeline. "Don't you ever leave me, Harry," he'd begged, nearly hysterical. "You can do whatever you want to me– just stay, okay? Stay, always. With me. Forever. Stay." He was babbling, entirely incoherently, against Harry's neck, wet lips moving rapidly against the golden skin.

"Draco, no," Harry said, and the negative answer caused Draco to spasm in his arms and positively _wail _against him. "Sh, sh, love, no– I didn't mean I wasn't going to stay," Harry soothed, gently rocking the distressed blonde. "Shh, it's alright. I only meant... that things– things aren't going to continue the way they are. They just can't. I...I need help, Draco, and– and I'm going to get it. I never want to lose control of my anger with you. Never again, alright?"

Draco had looked up at him, then, eyes shining with tears and thinly veiled relief, and pressed his lips to the identical wetness now dripping down the other's face. "I– I l-love you," he'd whispered, sniffling. "No matter w-what happens."

Harry had traced the shell of his ear, ghosted his fingers over the greasy, tangled blonde hair. "I love you too, Draco. I really don't deserve you."

"Don't say that," Draco had whispered. "You deserve the world, Harry."

Neither of them had said a word after that.

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When the doctor had came in an hour later, he'd found two broken boys, two frightened children, curled around each other with tears in their eyes and tremors in their bodies. He'd let Harry stay past visiting hours, because Draco wouldn't let go, and because Harry had promised he would stay.

Forever, he'd said. No matter what.

The doctor figured he couldn't really argue with that.


End file.
